


there's a warm town in the shadow of you

by spuffyduds



Category: Wilby Wonderful
Genre: Community: midsummerfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-12
Updated: 2010-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie, Dan's still trying to find his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a warm town in the shadow of you

A lifetime of not _quite_ fitting in has made Dan pretty damn good at picking up what the rules are in any social situation. He still can't usually manage to do it quite right, somehow, but he always figures out what he _ought_ to be doing. So by the time he's spent fifteen minutes at the Watch, he's realized that you don't talk to the other guys, beyond the barest minimum, no matter whether you're buddies or strangers in real life, in the daytime. Two guys he's seen talking each others' heads off while they threw darts at the Loyalist pair up and head into deeper woods with nothing but a headjerk invitation and a muttered "Fine."

And Duck barely seems to speak anyway, rents movies with just a quick smile and a handover of cash. So Dan's startled, his fourth or fifth time at the Watch and his first time getting up the courage to _do_ anything, when Duck breaks the cardinal rule. They pair up silently enough, with a smile from Duck and a nod from Dan (a terrified nod, of course, a fear that even here that's not enough or too much, that Duck will blink at him and say, "That's not what I meant.") They head for deeper shadow than the clearing where a dozen guys are standing, smoking, considering. And then Dan has no fucking idea what should happen next, just stands there awkwardly trying to figure out what to do with his hands and his face and his life, and Duck smiles again, walks around behind him and runs his hands up under Dan's shirt. That's such a relief--Duck did mean this, he wants to be here--and Dan relaxes a little at the same time that his breath speeds up, and his heartbeat. He starts to get hard, just from those hands, running softly up and down his stomach and chest. And then Duck leans close to his ear and says, quietly, "You smell good."

Dan panics for a minute, thinking crazily that this is some sort of test and he's not supposed to answer, and then reminds himself that this isn't a fraternity initiation, this is a bunch of guys getting off, and he says, "Baby shampoo. Uh, I have fine hair."

Duck laughs softly and says, "I like it." He unbuttons Dan's khakis, slides a hand in and squeezes his cock softly.

The "Oh," that comes out of Dan's mouth is kind of loud, so then he bites his lip and stays quiet all through the rest of the hand job until the very end when he has to make, can't help making, a noise that sounds a lot like a sob.

Whenever he goes back after that he plans to find someone else, has every intention of it. Because you're not supposed to keep going with the same person--another unwritten rule. And if Duck wasn't concerned about the no-talking rule, maybe he's not so great with the others either, like the one about not acknowledging any of this in real life, not bringing it up ever. Maybe he's dangerous that way.

But every time Duck's there, Dan finds himself smiling regretfully at anyone else, shaking his head at any other offers, waiting for the offer he wants. And every time Duck eventually wanders over to him, making it look casual--he does that right, at least. But he always breaks the rules once they're alone, whispers something short and sweet in Dan's ear, "I like the sounds you make," or "Your hip fits nice in my hand," or "You can fuck me, I brought stuff."

So Dan keeps whimpering, or rocks his hipbone into the cup of Duck's hand, or fucks him. And tries not to think how this would be in a bed, with time enough and room enough. Without a guy posted to keep an eye out for the cops and whistle for them to scatter. With no need to scatter, ever.

**********************************************************

When Dan checks out of the hospital, the aide who got him a vase for Duck's flowers is the one who pushes his wheelchair. She still can't look at him without going wide-eyed, like he was riding a unicycle and breathing fire. He's gotten to the point where this strikes him as extremely funny--he keeps talking to her in the corridor and the elevator, making inane and pointless conversation about the weather just so see her make that, "My GOD, he is still freakishly existing!" face.

The wheelchair, which is some kind of hospital rule--he'd be fine to walk--is made for a more average-height guy. So Dan's knees are folded up high like he was trying to ride a tricycle. Most of his life, that's the kind of thing that's made him think about not really fitting anywhere, but today he's thinking "Fuck it," and he stretches his legs out, feet on the floor, tilts his head back against the aide's stomach and smiles upside down at her.

She gives him her astonished stare again and then fixes her gaze on the elevator buttons, pushes him briskly out as soon as the doors open; he has to pick up his feet quickly to keep them from getting tangled up in the footrests and wheels.

Duck's waiting at the front doors with his truck. Dan climbs in and gives the aide a cheery wave and she actually raises her hand, waggles it a little at him.

They ride in silence for a good while, and then Duck suddenly says, "You know, you don't have to--you're more than welcome at my place, invitation stands. But while you were laid up--the way Irene runs her mouth, they might as well have published the names. I'd get it if you wanted to head for a mainland hotel."

Dan considers that for a minute. It should probably sound more appealing, being unknown and invisible, but he can't get excited about it. "Has it...this...caused you any problems?" he says.

"Nah," Duck says, hanging a left onto a gravel road and downshifting. Dan's eyes are drawn to his arms, wiry and tan. "Buddy's the one told me they weren't gonna run the names, and I'm thinking he had something to do with that. I'm pretty sure he'd pitch a fit if the town fired me, too. He's a good friend."

"Yeah," Dan says, and the surprising twist of jealousy in his gut makes him add, "I'd like to stay at your place."

Duck pulls into a gravel drive, and stops the truck. It's a small white cottage, a little weather-battered but sturdy-looking.

They climb out, and Duck pulls keys out of one of his many pockets and heads for the door. But then he stops, turns around and says "Hey. You know you don't have to--you can just stay here as a friend if you want, okay? I got a guest bed. You don't...owe me any..." he trails off and shrugs, dips his head.

Dan clears his throat. "If I _did_ want to," he says. "Do _you_ want to?"

Duck looks up quickly. "Christ, yes," he says.

Dan takes two steps to him; he can't help a quick glance around, to double-check that there really aren't any neighbors, and he hates that he can't help it. But then he's there, pressed up against Duck and wrapped up in his smell, sweat and sawdust and that harsh Goo handsoap. Shouldn't add up to a good smell but it does, it does, and Dan puts his arms around Duck, squeezes tight, tucks his face into Duck's neck and then breathes for a minute. And then realizes they've never kissed, Jesus, he's fucked this man but he's never kissed him.

Dan lifts his head, turns and meets Duck's lips with his. A soft dry kiss, and then he pulls back and looks, and Duck's smiling at him.

Dan slides a hand down the warm skin of Duck's arm, circles it softly around Duck's wrist, and they head for the door. He thinks it's going to be a quiet slow careful thing, but then Duck's fumbling with the keys, breath going fast and hitchy, and Dan catches his excitement and by the time they've made it inside, stumbled down a hall and fallen on a bed, they're gasping and yanking at each other's clothes. And then Duck's naked under him, and Dan can't--he just can't quite believe it, having what he wants, spread out in the light, in the daytime.

He wants his hands and his mouth everywhere at the same time, he can't stop stroking and licking and biting and moving, and Duck's moaning, eyes closed, while Dan's all over him, fingers and tongue. Until his fingertips brush over Duck's cock again and this time Duck grabs his hand, makes him stay, says, "Please."

Dan keeps his hand there, curls it around the hot skin, tightens his grip and moves his hand, watching Duck's face while he comes.

Duck lies there panting for a few moments after, and then, eyes still closed, smiles and says, "Okay, house tour. This is the bedroom," and Dan laughs for a long time.

**********************************************************************************************

He manages, for the next five or six days, not to think about what the hell he's going to do now. He barely steps outside the house; while Duck's at work he reads, going through the shelves of paperbacks; mostly crime thrillers, Joseph Wambaugh and Ed McBain, but he smiles to see a few battered Louis L'Amours and Zane Greys too. He putters, sweeping and mopping and a couple of times cooking supper.

But one day he finds himself twitchy and restless, picking up a book and putting it down, wandering from room to room. And realizes that he's got to _do_ something.

The logical thing would be to reopen the video store. But after a few days of no one seeing him but Duck, of the only looks directed at him being looks of approval and amusement and lust, the idea of walking the streets of Wilby sounds...so visible, so vulnerable.

Maybe the thing to do, instead, is close up, move the business to the mainland; god only knows how many customers he'd have left here, anyway. But that would make it crazy to keep staying here, himself; he'd really have to get a mainland apartment. He could explain that to Duck, surely; not like he'd be _leaving_ leaving, they could juggle their schedules, they could still see each other, and it's not like--he probably shouldn't be assuming he can stay here forever anyway, Duck doesn't owe him that. Duck doesn't owe him anything.

When Duck gets home that night Dan asks him for a ride out into town and Duck says, "Sure," but gives him a questioning look.

"I want to see how it feels," Dan says, "and I need to take a look around the store, think about what to do with it, whether it's going to work...here...or not."

"No problem," Duck says, but once they climb into the truck he's got nothing to say the whole ride.

Duck drives slowly through the town centre and they get a couple of long chilly stares from pedestrians but some friendly waves too, and Dan's feeling cautiously optimistic until they get to the store and he has to get out of the truck with people walking by and looking, and he has never felt so naked. It's not going to work, not here, not trying to go from barely admitting it to himself to having _everyone_ know; he needs just a little anonymity, he needs this to be a series of small steps instead of one big leap.

He can't quite bring himself to say any of this to Duck.

He pulls out his keys and lets them into the store, and looks around, wearily trying to imagine boxing all this up again, renting a truck. (Duck would offer his truck, of course he would. Dan can't let him.)

He doesn't even notice he's left the door open until he hears a scuff of sneakers and looks up to see a gangly teenage boy. Dan's seen him around but can't dredge up a name.

"We're--I'm closed," Dan says.

The boy just glares at him and says, "You guys a couple of faggots, huh?"

Dan opens his mouth to say "Get out of my store," but before he can, Duck says, "Yeah." In a soft slow voice, like he was talking to a frightened animal.

Dan takes a deep breath and really _looks_ at the kid, and he doesn't look menacing at all.

He looks twitchy and ashamed and terrified and like he's close to throwing up. He looks like Dan's high school yearbook photo.

"And it's all right," Duck says, still in that quiet, it's-okay-little-doggie voice. "It's really fine. Hasn't ruined my life, whatever some people might tell you."

"I'm not--" the kid says. "I'm _not_," but then his lower lip starts wobbling and he bites it, crosses his arms hard and stares at the floor.

"Hey," Duck says. "Head over to Iggy's, pick us up three coffees, tell Sandra to put it on my tab. Bring 'em back and we'll talk, okay? You can ask anything you want. Or talk about whatever you want. Or just shut up and drink coffee, it's okay."

The kid flashes him a smile, but it disappears quickly, replaced by wariness. "You're not trying to, like, hit on me, are you?"

"Jesus, Stuart," Duck says. "I like _grown_ men. Tall ones."

Dan laughs and Stuart does too, a little, and then heads out the door.

Duck shakes his head, says, "Dumb kid," and doesn't quite look at Dan when he adds, "Hey, you don't have to stick around for the pep talk. If you wanna go for a walk or something--it'll probably take a while--I know his folks, pretty sure he'd've been scared to say _anything_ at home."

Dan looks at him for a minute, thinks about the strength in his arms, in his hands, in his quiet "Yeah."

"I might as well stay," Dan says. "I've got a lot of posters to put back up, gotta find where I put my "open" sign--_hours_ of work to do," and he steps closer and puts his arm around Duck's waist. He wants to look at Duck's widening smile from up close, and maybe even taste it a little before Stuart gets back.

 

\---end---


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